


Study Buddies

by phdmama



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, Harry makes a move, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, excerpt from longer work that I haven't written entirely yet, public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: Two boys, all alone in the library. Whatever will happen?
Happy birthday to my lovely allwaswell16!!!  Here's the rest of it, darling!!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allwaswell16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwaswell16/gifts).



> This is envisioned as an excerpt from a longer 8th year AU I am writing, which isn't fully planned out yet. It's my first foray into writing HP fic, though I've been a devoted fan since 1999. 
> 
> I own none of these characters, I'm not profiting from any of this, etc. etc. PLEASE leave a kudos and/or a comment if you feel so inspired, they truly make my day!
> 
> Feel free to [come say hi on Tumblr](http://phd-mama.tumblr.com/)

It’s quiet in the library, and Harry can see dust hanging in the air, catching the light streaming in through the windows. His head is aching a bit, this potions essay is kicking his ass. He leans back in his chair, and stretches, hearing his shoulders pop as he twists. It’s a gorgeous Fall day, oddly warm for October in Scotland, and he can see break-your-heart blue skies outside, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Even the Forbidden Forest is lit up for the season, looking almost afire in the afternoon sun, and Harry can just about feel the crunch of leaves beneath his feet, can almost taste the crisp scent of Autumn on his tongue.

He can also hear the shouts of his classmates and friends outside, and is seized with the longing to join them. Even Ron and Hermione are nowhere to be found, but Harry has a feeling that this has more to do with the unexpected privacy in the 8th year dorms on a Sunday afternoon than with them being outside at the pick-up Quidditch game that’s going on.

Unfortunately, Harry isn’t going to be joining anyone. Well, of course, not Ron and Hermione. A frown crosses his face at the thought, that’d just be weird. He wishes them well, all the joy of a healthy sex life and all that, but, he shudders briefly, he’s really not interested in any more details than that. No, Harry is stuck inside on this glorious Fall day, most likely one of the last before the season fades into November, due to a small mishap in potions. And the man to blame just happens to be sitting at the next table over.

Harry leans on one elbow and casually skews his eyes to the right, where he can see a blond head gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the unshuttered window. Malfoy looks almost to be glowing, wearing a halo even, though he’s no angel. Harry is sure of that. Malfoy is frowning at his parchment, teeth gently biting his lower lip as he writes, oblivious to Harry sitting just 2 meters away.

Harry looks around the library, noting how empty it is. As he watches, Madame Pince sets down the book she’s reading, and walks out of the library, shutting the door behind her and leaving the two of them apparently alone in the large room. Harry looks back down at the parchment. He looks back at Malfoy and then at the closed door. He knows what he ought to be doing. The problem is, Harry’s spent the last 18 years doing exactly what others think he ought to be doing, and while, he has to admit, the results turned out well for most of the wizarding world, he’s...done with that. He sets his quill down decisively, and stands.

Malfoy is either ignoring him or oblivious as Harry steps up to the table, but looks up in surprise as Harry slides into the seat next to him.

His gaze narrows. “Potter.” 

Harry smiles innocently, and Malfoy’s eyes narrow further. “What do you want, Potter? I don’t really have time for you today, seeing as I have to write 18 inches on the impact of lavender in cheering solutions,  _ thanks to you _ .” He hisses the last words and Harry feels a jolt of annoyance. 

“It’s not my fault the potion blew up, Malfoy,” he hisses in return. Even knowing the library is empty, he can’t be loud. There’s something about the silence that is sacred. 

Malfoy rolls his eyes in that way that makes Harry see red, and sneers. Harry wants to wipe that sneer off his face, wants to break his composure, wants to push him back into the stacks and… _ down, boy _ , he reminds himself. 

“Well,” Malfoy drawls sarcastically, “I wasn’t the one who wasn’t even looking when he grabbed our ingredients and I could have predicted what would happen if SOMEONE hadn’t been distracting me.”

At that, Harry shrugs. “Okay,” he admits, “Fair point.” He had been deliberately distracting Malfoy, after all.

Malfoy blinks, not expecting such capitulation so soon. “Well,” he says, after a pause, “There’s no way you could have known that Slughorn mislabeled the lavender anyway.” Even though it *had* been mislabeled, McGonagall had suggested that 8th year NEWTs students should really have known lavender on sight, and should have known that it would interact...poorly with the other ingredients in the potion, and had assigned both of them this Sunday detention and essay, after the fiasco. 

There a moment of silence as the two boys look at each other, and Harry’s heart starts pounding. He and Malfoy have been dancing around each other for the last two months, since their return to Hogwarts. Their history of animosity has subtly changed, shifted to a different kind of tension, and all of a sudden, Harry can’t bear waiting any longer. He has to know. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then reaches out, placing his hand on Malfoy’s leg. 

The muscle jumps under his touch, and Malfoy’s eyes widen in shock, as if he can’t believe what Harry is doing. While he doesn’t *know* for sure whether or not Malfoy likes boys, Harry has become pretty sure that Malfoy is, at the very least, not immune to him. After the incident in potions, where he’d caught Malfoy’s eye and very deliberately run his tongue over his lips, and had watched as Malfoy’s eyes had darkened and he’d almost gasped, Harry had become much more sure. Whether or not Malfoy was going to admit it, though. That was the question, wasn’t it?

Malfoy’s voice is quiet, tentative almost. “Har- Potter. What are you doing?”

Harry’s heart rate speeds up again. He carefully begins rubbing small circles into Malfoy’s, no,  _ Draco’s _ strong thigh. He can feel the lean muscles quivering and hears Draco’s breathing pick up. 

“Just...trying something out, Draco.” Draco’s eyes widen at the name, and he appears frozen except for that small movement.

Harry pauses his hand. “Is this okay?”

Malfoy is staring straight ahead, and his cheeks are beginning to flush a most intriguing shade of pink. “Um.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Well. I’m not sure what you have in mind.”

Harry lets his hand float a bit higher up Malfoy’s leg. “Well, I was thinking about...a study break.”

“Study break?” Malfoy seems to be having trouble breathing as Harry strokes him through the fabric of his robes and trousers.

“Yeah, if you know I mean.”

Malfoy leans back, closes his eyes. Harry watches his throat bob as he swallows. “No, Potter, I can’t say that I do.”

Harry leans in, knows Malfoy can feel the heat of his breath as he whispers, “Well, you’re here. And I’m here. And…” his voice trails off and he moves his hand incrementally higher up Draco’s thigh. “No one else is here. Even Madame Pince took off. So, we’re all alone in this big old library.” He lets his hand ghost over Malfoy’s body and gives a small, secret, smug grin at the hardness he feels there. Draco squeaks and jumps and pushes Harry’s hand away, but only back down to his leg, Harry notes, not off of his body.

“Pot-! Harry!” 

“Look at me, Draco.” Harry’s voice is low, sure. Draco visibly gasps, opens his eyes, and turns to look at Harry, face flushes and pupils blown. Harry is staggered with a wave of longing so powerful that he’s momentarily breathless.

“Look, I want you, Draco. I’ve wanted you since I saw you at that Starbucks before we got on the train. I’ve wanted you while we were talking in the common room, while we were playing those Seekers’s Games on the pitch, while I was watching you eat in the Great Hall. When I ran into you in the showers, I wanted you so bad, Draco. I feel like I’ve been wanting you forever.” Harry is a bit stunned to hear the words he’s saying, but they feel like something new between him and Draco. They feel like truth.

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop right now. I won’t bother you again if you don’t want me to, Draco, but I have to know. Do you…” He stops, all of a sudden feeling uncertain and vulnerable. 

Draco’s eyes haven’t left Harry’s, and he looks stunned. Harry continues, “I think you might, but I don’t know, Draco, so I’m asking. Do you want me too?”

There is absolute silence, and Harry thinks that perhaps he’s made a terrible mistake. His heart stutters and he shuts his eyes for one moment, and then, lifting his hand from Draco’s thigh, he moves to push his chair back.  “I’m sorry, Malfoy, I must have misread…” His voice trails off, and then he continues, “I’ll just leave, okay? I won’t bother you again.”  

He stands up and turns, ready to gather his things and go back to this dorm room to wallow on his bed in self-pity, Ron and Hermione’s sex life be damned, when he feels a hand slip into his own.

“Wait.”

He freezes, and then, heart in his throat, looks down, first at the hand holding onto his, and then at the boy sitting, staring back at him.

Draco stands, and Harry is reminded again that Draco is just that much taller than him, that he has to tilt his head back a bit to look into his eyes. “I don’t...I’ve never…” Draco stops, frustrated. Harry feels a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. 

“Never snogged a boy?”

Draco sighs. “Never really snogged anyone, Potter.”   
  
Harry’s eyes widen at that. “Really? But what about Parkinson?”

Draco shakes his head. “A few kisses here and there, but it never went farther than that. It never really…” He swallows and stares over Harry’s shoulder, “It never really did anything for me.”   
  
Harry can’t help himself, he moves closer, until he’s all but pressed up against Draco, feeling the heat radiating off the other man’s body. “But I do, don’t I, Draco.” His voice is low and confident as he takes in the flush rising over Draco’s cheeks. “I do it for you, don’t I?”

Draco nods once, almost angrily, still staring over Harry’s shoulder. Harry reaches a hand up, and runs his fingers down along Draco’s sharp jawline, feeling the faint stubble there, a feeling that never fails to turn him on, so different from the soft cheeks of the few girls he’d kisses. His hand cups Draco’s jaw, and almost of its own accord, tilts Draco’s head back towards his so their eyes can meet.  Draco’s grey eyes are stormy as he glares at Harry.

“I guess you do,” he mutters, and Harry leans in to kiss him but at the last minute, Draco turns his face and Harry’s lips collide with his jaw. “Merlin, Potter, we’re in the middle of the library!” He sounds scandalized and, Harry realizes, aroused. 

“I’m not too worried about that,” Harry says, leaning in again, but this time Draco takes a small step backwards, placing his hand on Harry’s chest. 

“Anyone could walk in.”

Harry pauses, and then, grabbing Draco by the hand, begins walking purposefully down the main aisle between the rows and rows of bookshelves, until they’re at the back of the room. It’s darker back here, and the smell of books and dust is strong in the air as Harry tugs Draco into  the secluded space, and turns to face him.

His voice sounds low and unfamiliar to his own ears as he says, “No one can see us now.”

Draco’s eyes widen and Harry can hear his sudden intake of breath as Harry moves closer to him. “Draco,” he murmurs, the name, so long forbidden to him, thrills his tongue as he says it, “Draco, you have to tell me. Tell me what you want.”

Draco steps back as Harry advances, until he’s pressed up against the bookcase. Harry braces himself on either side of Draco, caging his body with his arms as he leans in closer, their eyes locked. 

Draco opens his mouth, and then cups one hand around Harry’s neck and pulls him in, joining their mouths in a kiss that leaves Harry breathless. The kiss deepens, and Harry feels like he can’t get close enough to Draco, like he wants to crawl right into that hot, wet, clever mouth. He feels like he’s falling. He feels like he’s flying.

Draco breaks away, and stares up at the ceiling, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Just...just hold up a minute,” Draco whispers and Harry tries to get his breathing under control, reminding himself that Draco hasn’t done this before. It’s all new to him, and fuck, if that doesn’t get Harry even harder.

He says again, “What do you want, Draco. I just, I want to make you feel so good.” At that, Draco’s eyes widen. Harry knows how to do this, is the thing. He’s learned how to kiss a man and make him tremble, how to touch eager flesh, how to use his mouth, his hands, his arse, to bring a man to his knees. But as Draco leans in and kisses him again, somehow tentative and sure at the same time, Harry realizes he doesn’t know anything at all about how this goes. 

And then Draco whispers against his mouth, “Just, touch me, Harry,  _ Please _ .” So Harry does. As they kiss, mouths working frantically, he reaches up and carefully unfastens Draco’s robe, pushing it off of his shoulders. He slides his hands down Draco's back and yanks his shirt from his trousers, and then carefully maneuvers his hands up under the smooth fabric. He feels Draco’s hands running across his own back, clutching him closer, and all he can think is  _ more, more, more. _

Draco is moving against him faster now, and Harry can feel the hard length him through the thick cloth of their trousers, knows Draco can feel his own erection and gives a helpless moan at that thought. He mouths his way down Draco’s neck as his hands drift south to cup the firm curves of his ass and he pulls Draco more solidly against him as they rub together. This. This is perhaps the most potent experience he’s ever had, and he watches as Draco loses himself to the sensation between them. His eyes are closed and he’s panting as he thrusts against Harry, and he’s whispering, “Harry, oh Merlin,  _ Harry _ .”

Harry moves his hand between their bodies now, ignoring his own pleasure as he cups Draco and runs a thumb firmly up over the ridge he feels. He leans in and bites down on the cords standing out on Draco’s neck. Draco’s eyes fly open as something almost like panic crosses his face, and then his head is thumping back against the bookshelf, a guttural moan seems wrenched from him, and he’s coming, his mouth open in a perfect O.

In the silence of the aftermath, Harry can only hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he watches Draco struggle to regain control, his chest heaving as he gasps.  Draco’s eyes shift to meet his own, and Harry swallows a moan. Draco’s mouth is red and swollen from their kisses, his face is flushed and his pupils are blown wide open as he stares at Harry, still panting.

“Potter. Harry.” He whispers. “Did you…?” His eyes drift downward, and then snap back to Harry’s face, as Harry shakes his head wordlessly. “Do you…” his voice cracks and he clears his throat, “Do you...want to?”

Harry closes his eyes, and nods, almost ashamed by the longing that thrums in his veins as Draco takes a deep breath, licks his lips and then, “What do you want?”

Harry carefully lets his cloak drop to the floor.  Then, holding Draco’s gaze with his own, he carefully unfastens his trousers and shoves them down to his knees. He reaches out and takes Draco’s hand, whose eyes widen as his breath stutters in his throat, and then he pulls Draco’s arm towards him and wraps the other man’s fingers around his hard and aching cock.

“Merlin…” Draco gasps, curling his fingers around Harry’s length.

“Is this okay?” Harry whispers.

Draco nods, and then, not letting go, spins them both around so now it is Harry backed up against the shelf, Harry who is caged between Draco and the books as Draco leans on one arm and begins moving his hand over Harry. His touch is a bit awkward and unsure, and Harry cants his hips forward. It’s just not quite... _ enough _ .

“More,” he pants, “Merlin, Draco,  _ more _ .”  Draco’s fingers tighten and his hand speeds up as he leans in to kiss Harry thoroughly, and then begins muttering in his ear as he works Harry over. 

“Merlin, Harry, you’re so fucking hot. Can’t believe you just made me come in my pants, so good, that was so good Harry, c’mon for me, Potter, fucking come for me, you’re so beautiful.”

And Harry gives a strangled moan and comes, hard, all over Draco’s hand and leg.

There is silence again, only this time it’s Harry panting into the quiet, trying to get his breathing and heart rate back under control. It’s Harry’s head thumping back against the shelf as he gasps, too overwhelmed to be embarrassed that his softening cock is still hanging between them. Draco is still pressed close, staring at Harry with something that looks like awe, and then he leans down, and presses a kisses to Harry’s jaw, before moving away and muttering a cleaning charm.

“Well. That was…” Draco’s voice trails off, and they stare at each other. Then, Draco’s face breaks out into a soft, fond smile. “That was an interesting study break, Potter.”

Harry smiles back, carefully putting his clothing to rights. “I think we should...should we talk about this?”

Draco’s smile doesn’t dim, and Harry feels a thrill run through him. “Yeah, probably. But now. We’ve still got to finish that fucking essay.” He hesitates, and then grabs Harry by the hand. “C’mon. Enough distraction for right now.”

Bemused, Harry follows Draco back down the aisle to where his books are piled, and slides into the seat next to Draco before he accios his own materials.  As he stares down at the half-filled parchment, he takes a deep breath. An unfamiliar feeling sits in his chest. It feels like a beginning. It feels like hope.


End file.
